


Satisfaction Guaranteed

by Imagining_in_the_Margins



Category: 68 Kill (2017)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Post-Divorce, Self-Insert, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex, handyman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imagining_in_the_Margins/pseuds/Imagining_in_the_Margins
Summary: Reader’s handyman wasn’t joking when he said satisfaction was guaranteed.
Relationships: Chip Taylor/Reader, Chip Taylor/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 41





	Satisfaction Guaranteed

There’s a quote, often misattributed to Einstein, saying that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. I’ve never been much of a believer in the idea underlying the quote, especially in reference to people. After all, people can change, right?

That’s what I had to tell myself. I had to believe that people were capable of change and that one day, if I fought hard enough or right enough, things would change. I had to tell myself that because I knew that if I stopped believing it, I wouldn’t have any sanity left.

But there comes a time when your voice is so hoarse from screaming that you can’t fight back. Any attempt to speak comes out in broken shouted whispers.

“Do you think you could just—“ I tried to beg my husband, but he stopped me before the request had even left my mouth.

“God, do you ever stop nagging?” he barked, “I swear, you haven’t used your mouth for something useful in years.” 

The words feel like knives on my skin and ice in my veins, but the implication wasn’t even the most painful part; it was the audience to the insult.

“Chip, do me a favor and find a way to make her shut up. I’ll pay you double,” my husband joked, turning to the man sitting on the floor next to the other door with the knob in his hand.

Chip didn’t know why we needed it to be re-keyed. I didn’t want to admit that my husband’s latest girlfriend had threatened to turn up on our doorstep ruin my life. I definitely didn’t want to tell him my husband had also given her a key to our home.

So instead, he just sat there with an uncomfortable, tight-lipped half smile that was aimed more at the floor than the man who was speaking to him. When my husband opened the door, Chip finally raised his eyes to me.

I tried not to look as humiliated and hurt as I was, but it wasn’t possible. When the door finally slammed shut, I jumped at the noise.

And then it was silent. Time seemed to move slower. Maybe that’s why Chip’s eyes felt like they lingered on my face. Surely he wouldn’t want to look at me any longer than necessary while I cried. I certainly didn’t want him to. I still didn’t stop him, though.

“Are you alrigh—“

“Ugh! He’s such a stupid fucking piece of shit!”

He watched me as I started to pace, though I felt his gaze leave me every now and then as he returned to work in small bursts. I might’ve felt bad about the fact I was distracting him if it didn’t feel like my heart was about to implode and leave me empty and destroyed in the foyer.

“I swear it’s like men only care about... about sports and sex! And I don’t even think they need the sports!”

Chip waited a moment, glancing up at me and locking eyes to be sure my tirade was over. Once he could be certain, he just sort of shrugged.

“I don’t like sports,” he said.

I snorted because it seemed like such a simple response, and Chip was such a simple guy. He was waiting for my response, the screwdriver in his hand resting in place as he looked up at me expectantly.

“Not you, Chip,” I sighed.

As I came to sit next to him, he turned his body so that we faced each other on the floor. It was such a silly thing to make me as happy as it did. Like he saw us as equals. Like he saw me as someone deserving respect.

“I’m a guy,” he stated elegantly before continuing his work.

The tears that were on my face had dried so quickly I almost forgot they were there. The juxtaposition of screaming rage to the soft whispers and laughter made me feel like I’d entered another world. A world where things were easier.

“No, I know you’re a man.”

It was sort of hard to miss. Between his chiseled jawline and the protruding veins of his forearms, I never knew what to focus on when it came to Chip.

I wondered if that’s why I always ended up looking him in the eyes. Those shining hazel irises that looked vaguely like sunlight caught in a piece of amber. They were honest, and they were kind.

“But you’re... different,” I mumbled, “You actually listen to me. Or at least, you’re good at pretending like you are.”

With that quiet gentleness he always seemed to wear, Chip said through a pout, “I like listening to you.”

I wasn’t sure what exactly it was, but something possessed me to touch him, then. My hand floated out to him like we were in a dream. My fingers grazed under his chin, the stubble harsh against my skin. I wondered what his hands must be like. Calloused and talented and dirty. I could almost feel them against my thighs and roaming over my back.

“What’s wrong?” He broke me from my train of thought, and I jumped at the realization of what I was doing. He hadn’t even tried to move away from my hand. If anything, it seemed like he’d moved closer.

“See,” I breathed, “You’re different.” I should have removed my hand from his face, but I didn’t. Instead, my fingers came to rest against his cheek, and my thumb drew patterns against the stubble.

“I’m sorry that your husband is a dick.” His voice broke, and he swallowed hard when he finished. Like he had to force himself to stop there, to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t.

It wasn’t the fact he had something to say. It was the fact that I wanted him to say it. I pulled my hand back so fast that his face followed, and we sat with our faces just a few inches away.

For the enormity of the room, it felt like no air remained, and I realized then just how badly I wanted him.

I forced myself to turn around, resting my back against the wall and taking a deep breath. “Maybe it’s not all his fault. I guess I’m not... the best wife in the world.”

The understatement of the century, considering how close I had just come to wrenching the handyman. There were better written plots to literal porn.

“You seem fine to me,” Chip replied nonchalantly, returning to his work like the moment hadn’t happened at all.

And maybe it hadn't, for him. Maybe it was just me projecting my need to feel desired onto the closest available man. All I knew was that if it had to be any man, I was glad that it was Chip. Because no matter how sour my mood, I trusted him to make me laugh.

“You hardly know me,” I snorted, crossing my legs in front of me just to see if he would look.

He did.

“You’re nice to me,” he said. But then, under his breath and in a way that made me think I wasn’t meant to hear it, he added, “That’s more than I can say for a lot of women.”

The thought made my face scrunch in confusion paired with a healthy dose of disgust. It sounded so ludicrous, the idea that anyone could see him and want to do anything but hold him. He seemed so… good. Misguided and easily distracted, sure. But ultimately good.

“Who could ever hurt you?” I cooed, using my words to touch him so that my hands would stay where they were. Of course, considering the way they were drawing slow patterns over my thighs, that didn’t help much, either.

It was Chip’s turn to laugh. “You’d be surprised.” He shook his head, ending the sentence and the story that clearly went with it. To be fair, it didn’t seem like a story worth telling. The mere thought of Chip in pain or suffering from heartache brought me physical pain.

I shouldn’t have felt that way about him, though. I shouldn’t have even been thinking about the women who’d hurt him. I was only thinking of them because I was jealous. Bitter and angry that they could have a man like that and still throw him away.

I wasn’t one to talk. I was doing the same thing to my husband, although he wasn’t nearly as good of a man.

“My husband is right though,” I sighed, thinking out loud more than expecting a response. I really wasn’t even considering what I was saying, or whether Chip would even want to hear it. I just needed to say the words out loud, to have the only good man I know tell me that things were going to be okay. That I wasn’t a failure.

“I know he wants things from me. They aren’t hard to do, and it’s not like I contribute much else to our marriage. It’d be easier to just give him what he wants but—“

The words were cut off by the loud crash of metal on ceramic. I jumped at the sound, my whole body jerking away from the source. It wasn’t until I realized that the source was Chip that a wave of heat flooded my entire body.

His hand, shaking slightly under the pressure, still gripped the screwdriver that he’d smashed against the floor between us.

What was I thinking? Why was I discussing my marriage problems with a man who was just trying to do his job? Like he would care about my pathetic woes, or that he would be able to give me what I wanted. He was just being nice, and I was being an idiot.

“I’m sorry, this is so inappropriate,” I muttered, scrambling off the floor and preparing to take off down the hallway. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

I couldn’t tell if it was the way my voice wavered, or the speed with which I left him, but I could feel Chip’s remorse rolling off him without even looking.

“Wait!” he called, his heavy boot-clad footfalls quickly approaching me. It made sense; I wasn’t trying to run away from him. Not really. And when his hand caught my wrist and pulled me back towards him, I let the momentum carry me straight into his arms.

Chip’s eyes quickly scanned mine from their much closer proximity. His breathing had somehow gotten heavier, even though I knew the short distance wasn’t exactly a workout for him.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he explained breathlessly. Dragging his other hand over his face before running it through his hair, I could see the tension in his jaw. When he licked his lips and pressed them into a flat line, I thought I might actually pass out.

He was _so close_. I could smell the menthol on his breath, and I wondered if his lips would feel as hot as his hand. His hand that gripped me hard as he led me backwards down the hall until my back hit a wall.

“I’m just... fucking pissed,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“About what?” I asked, our earlier conversation a distant memory now made fuzzy by the intoxicating lack of distance between us.

When he let go of my wrist, I thought that I’d said something wrong again. I thought that I’d ended the moment before it ever began and lost any chance of knowing what thoughts raged behind those sunshine eyes.

But then, returning with a vengeance, both of Chip’s hands dug into my hips, pulling my lower body against his while his face came even closer to mine.

“Tell me,” he seethed, “when was the last time that asshole touched you without asking for something in exchange?”

“I-I don’t... I don’t understand the question,” I stuttered, my eyes barely able to stay open. The truth was, I understood the question. I heard everything he was saying, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond. I didn’t trust my traitorous mouth to do anything then. Because if I let it move too much, I knew I would end up with my lips on his. I would give myself to him, and I wouldn’t regret it at all.

And Chip knew it, too.

Leaning forward, our noses almost touched when he asked the question again in different words. “When was the last time he actually satisfied you? Honestly.”

“I’m not...”

This time, my words were cut off by a sharp inhale as he pressed his hips against mine. Even though the thick denim of his pants, I could feel his erection pressed against my leg, and my mind was running wild. My skin was on fire; my lungs felt empty and too full at the same time. And when I bucked my hips against him, I saw Chip smile through my half-lidded eyes.

“Exactly,” he spat. “Men like that don’t deserve shit. They’re weak fucking assholes that don’t appreciate what they have.”

With each word there was more movement. Whether it was his hands digging into me, trying to leave marks for another to find later, or whether it was me, desperately grinding our hips together in search of some release for the tension building in my gut.

“If I had a woman like you, I wouldn’t even let her touch me until I’d already worn her out,” he said, leaning forward to whisper in my ear, “because I wouldn’t be satisfied unless your thighs were pressed over my ears and your hands were knotted in my hair.”

Just as he said it, I did it. My hands raked through his hair and held his face against mine. As our heated cheeks pressed together, I felt him smirk.

“I would want to hear you scream my name over and over again until you can’t remember your own.”

Was it possible to orgasm from words alone? Because I felt desperately close. Although, it was hardly just his words. His entire body was pinning me against the wall. And in that tiny space between his arms, I had never felt freer.

“I want to feel you fall apart on my tongue and I want to _keep going_.”

The fact he’d dropped the ‘ _would_ ’ did not go unnoticed. His hands on my hips weren’t stationary anymore; with gentle motions of rough hands, he led the rolling of my hips against him.

With a low, loud moan in my ear, Chip growled out the last of his warning, “And if your stupid fucking piece of shit husband doesn’t want to do that for you, tell him that there are plenty of other men who will.”

“Chip, I—“

The sound of the front door opening had never been so loud.

“Hey honey, I forgot my briefcase. Can you grab it for me?”

My eyes shot open, but the rest of me remaining paralyzed in place. Chip, on the other hand, seemed just as capable of movement. Pulling back from our scandalous embrace, he just pushed my hips back against the wall with enough force to knock any air from my lungs.

Despite the removal of his body heat, I’d never felt hotter than I did when I watched Chip walk back over to the discarded doorknob on the ground. Getting down on his knees, he returned to business like he hadn’t just done more for me than I’d gotten throughout the entire duration of my marriage.

“Honey?”

“Y-yes!” I finally shouted, taking off down the rest of the hall to the stairs. “Sorry, I’ll get it right now!”

“Not like I’m running late or anything,” he jeered, but I couldn’t be bothered to react. My mind was still with the man on the floor behind me.

“Right,” I whispered. “Sorry.”

I wasn’t talking to my husband.

———

Of all the parts of a divorce that surprised me, the mandatory waiting period after filing was by far the most irritating.

Three months. It had been three months since the day my husband forgot his briefcase and almost caught me grinding on the handyman. I remember the day because it also happened to be the day I'd driven to my husband’s job and handed him the divorce papers.

And then I just had to... wait.

In an empty house that was way bigger than it needed to be, I sat by myself. I could have filled the house with people to distract me, but I knew how it would look. I was theoretically allowed to sleep with other men, but I was scared of what they would think. I was scared of what Chip would think.

Then the day came when it was finally over. The final stamp of approval that granted me the freedom I’d fought for. And my first action as a free woman was to find a way to fill the void. That sounded so crass. I really didn’t mean it that way, although...

The second I heard the doorbell ring, I was already at the door. I could see his outline from behind the privacy glass, and even just that sight took my breath away. It was wrong and stupid to be so excited he was there. It had been three months; there was no guarantee he was even still single— much less interested in me.

But there was something in the way he'd answered my call that gave me hope. The same kind of hope I felt when I finally opened the door and saw him there.

“Hey Miss (y/n). Long time no see,” he said with that same shy smile he was known for. It wasn’t the exact one I’d been dreaming of, but it had been missed all the same.

“Hey Chip,” I whispered with a fluttering heart and a dreamy sigh, “Yeah, it’s been awhile.”

His eyes were the first thing to change. The second they caught wind of my bare leg peeking out from behind the satin robe, the grip of his hand on the toolbox and the position of his hips shifted. He didn’t stay still for long. Clearing his throat, he stepped past my obviously half naked figure into the house.

“You said it was the sink?”

I’d actually, honestly, almost forgotten why I’d called him. “Y-yeah. The sink. It’s making a noise and I found water under the cabinet,” I muttered, pulling the tie around my waist tighter and shutting the door.

Then it was just us. Me and Chip, alone in the house. Again. For the most part, things went about the same as they had when I was married, which was a testament to Chip’s patience and resolve, considering I'd just made it very evident that I was basically naked.

But then it hit me that maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe I was doing it again— projecting my wants and needs onto him without stopping to consider his feelings.

“Where’s your husband?”

And then another thing hit me: I'd never told him. He didn’t know.

“ _Ex-_ husband,” I corrected, watching him sink to his knees in front of the cabinets.

“And hopefully dead in a ditch somewhere,” I murmured under my breath as I approached him at the sink. It felt a little strange to stand with my crotch at his eye level, but I thought sitting would be even weirder considering the length of the robe.

“I’m guessing you didn’t tell him about my advice then,” Chip chuckled, and the words caught me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting him to be so blasé about our scandalous interaction the last time we were alone in a house together.

But for some reason, it also made me laugh.

“No, I definitely did _not_ do that,” I stressed with a shake of my head, “but I did get a divorce.”

“That’s cool. He sucked.”

Chip’s smile was beaming so brightly I could see it even from his position half under the cabinet. I suspect mine looked much the same. The butterflies he’d set aflutter in my stomach months ago were beginning to flood my stomach again. I laughed louder to cover the sounds of their beating wings.

“Yes, he did suck,” I agreed. I could have just stopped there, but something about Chip always made me want to talk. It was the way he made sure you knew he was listening, even if he probably wasn’t.

“And it turns out that since he didn’t want any of his girlfriends to find out about each other, he was gracious enough to leave me the house.” I gestured to the much too large house, still filled with an occasional knick-knack or mess he’d left behind. I wondered how long it would take me to erase him completely from the place.

The man in my cabinet, on the other hand, still seemed caught up on one small detail. “ _Girlfriends_?” he asked, drawing out the ’s’ with a distinct incredulity. “He couldn’t even handle the wife he already had.”

“Young girls are stupid,” I said with a scoff. I ran my hand through my hair that I had pathetically styled for a date with the handyman. The handyman that potentially didn’t even realize I was offering myself to him.

That was just like Chip, though. More worried about how I felt than his own needs. He’d made that clear last time. God, I was stupid for not just telling him then that I would be his if he wanted me. But of course, I didn’t want him to think I was just looking to have an extramarital affair. The bored housewife and the handyman — what was this? A low quality porno?

“Trust me, I know stupid,” I muttered, looking down at Chip’s back and letting the full weight of my emotions show on my face now that he couldn’t see it. “I married him. Then wasted years of my life with a man who clearly didn’t care.”

I didn’t expect Chip to answer. He usually didn’t when I said things like that. What are you supposed to say? I certainly hoped he’d never been through the ordeal of a loveless relationship before. Although realistically, he probably had. It was rare to find a man like him who hadn’t been taken advantage of.

“You’re not stupid,” he called from beneath the sink. So simple, yet so comforting. That was who he was.

As he crawled back out from the cabinet, I caught a glimpse of the sad, nostalgic smile he wore. While part of me wondered what he was remembering, the other part of me didn’t want to know. I was already regretful of the years I'd wasted knowing him and not chasing him. If there had been other women in that time, it was my own fault.

“You’re sweet,” I whispered. My hand reached out to him before I thought to stop it. I felt the muscles of his arm tense, and I tried to count the freckles and faded scars.

“I fixed the sink.”

Jumping slightly at the sound of his voice, I looked over at his hands as he dried them on a nearby towel. I was so lost in my blatant admiration of him, that I failed to notice the way he turned on the sink without a problem, washing his hands to clean off the rust and dirt that he’d encountered on the way.

“What? Already?”

“Yeah. It was just loose,” he explained, turning to face me with one arm rested against the counter. My hand fell away, although I felt that hadn't been his intention based on the way he watched it. “Which is weird, considering it was rusted. It’s almost like... someone loosened it themselves.”

His eyes snapped up then, catching mine just as they darted away from him. I could feel the heat gathering in my cheeks, and even the scoff I gave could only reach half-volume. Through my humiliation, Chip found entertainment. His hand, still cold from the water, landed on my lower back and pulled my body closer to him.

“It’s almost like…” he whispered in my ear, “someone just wanted an excuse to call their handyman.”

“I-I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I stuttered back, which was rendered even less convincing by the fact that I didn’t make a single move to escape his embrace. If anything, I leaned into it.

Chip, however, took a step to the side, cornering me against the cabinet with both his body and his gaze. The excitement I felt in that moment rose exponentially seconds later, as he started to lower himself back down in front of me. 

“Wh-what are you doing?”

By the time I managed to ask the question, he was already on his knees. One of his hands spread across my thigh, hooking around to pull it aside. At the same time, his other hand pushed the fabric of my robe out of the way.

With his lips against my inner thigh, he spoke into the skin. “What you really called me over for. What your husband should have done.”

I could hardly think through the haze of lust, but I apparently had enough common sense to grab hold of the counter with one hand and Chip’s hair with the other. He took the action as it was intended: as my approval and concurrent invitation to do whatever he pleased.

And he did.

“Fuck, Chip,” I moaned when he finally maneuvered between the satin, his breath ghosting over my heated skin.

Before he went any further, he paused, his nails digging into my skin before he growled, “You have no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

It was the last thing he said before he began. There was no hesitation or build up; his mouth covered my sex with sloppy kisses. His tongue darted out to drag up my folds, and I couldn’t breathe. My hand in his hair was so firmly rooted that I had to believe that it hurt.

But Chip didn’t seem to care at all. There was no way of knowing what was going through his head, but his motivations seemed clear in his absolutely ravenous ministrations.

I didn’t want it to end, but it was so hard not to give in to the pleasure he was providing. My legs shook so hard that I don’t think I would have been able to remain standing if it weren’t for his hands pressing my hips against the counter.

“Chip, please,” I cried, only feeling a little shame for the way my hips started to grind against his mouth. But he didn’t pull away. In fact, he seemed to get even more involved. His lips closed around my clit, and I hardly noticed that he’d removed one of his hands from my hip until he dipped a finger into my heat.

There was no warning him of my impending orgasm, because any attempt at words came out as moans and whines instead. As my body started to tense, I swear I felt him smile against my skin. Still, his tongue and finger persisted until the last sign of my orgasm had dwindled.

Once he was satisfied with his work, he stopped. He lazily wiped his face against my thigh, and the rough stubble against my skin was even more enticing when it was covered in my arousal.

Of all the things I thought might happen next, what Chip actually did was so far from the top that I’m not even sure it was on the list at all. With his hands sliding over my hips, he started to stand at the same time as he jerked me forward. As a result, my still trembling figure collapsed over his shoulder like a rag-doll. Without any further comment, he started to carry me away from the sink.

“Where are we going?” I slurred. My body didn’t even try to protest the warmth he provided. Even if I'd wanted to, I was still wrecked from what had just happened. Chip didn’t go very far, though. It was only a few steps before he gently placed me down on the kitchen table.

I didn’t wait for further instruction because I didn’t think it was necessary. My hands fumbled down to his pants, but as soon as I grabbed hold of his belt, his hands wrapped around my wrists. He used that hold to push me back against the table, and I only barely avoided the heavy thunk of my head against the wood.

Looking up at the man hovering above me, I wondered if he realized that my arms were limp below his. I had no intention of fighting anything he wanted to do to me. I wanted him to do whatever he wanted with me.

He must have heard me, because his grip loosened, and he ran his hands down my arms. His careful moments and torturous pace in that moment were starkly contrasted by the fervor he’d employed moments earlier by the counter.

Chip seemed very pleased with himself. There was a small smile tugging at one side of his lips. I tried not to think about how they were the same lips that had wrecked me. It seemed like too much to bear.

But apparently, he wanted me to think about it. Because right after Chip tore open the robe and exposed my chest to him, he dragged his mouth down my torso.

“I’m not done with you,” he spoke through the kisses.

There were so many things he could have meant, but for some reason I was getting the feeling that he wasn’t talking about regular sex. Not yet, anyway.

“What do you mean?” I asked, hoping that his clarification would do something for my heart that was beginning to ache from overuse. Chip smiled as he finally pulled back, just before his lips fell below my hips again.

The next noise I heard was the legs of a chair dragging across the tile. I closed my eyes, still trying to catch my breath for what I then knew was coming next.

Sure enough, Chip, now seated, grabbed hold of my legs and pulled me down to the edge of the table. The burn of the wood against my back felt so warm compared to the marble of the countertop that had cut into me before. His breath, while expected, still made me jump when his mouth brushed over my folds.

“Exactly what I said, doll.” I shuddered at the way he dragged his tongue once through my heat before he continued, “I’m not done.”

When Chip went down on me again, I lost my ability to comprehend anything beyond him. The room that had felt so large before was nothing anymore. It was just space to be filled with the sounds he drew out of me so effortlessly.

I didn’t remember moving them, but my hands raked through his hair. I was so used to having to guide men to wherever I needed them, but he was somehow always already there. It felt like a literal dream.

But it wasn’t a dream. His fingers pressing into me reminded me of that, and the brief pressure I felt before my body gave into him must have given away how long it had been since a man had treated me like this.

Chip must have noticed, because his ministrations slowed, and his fingers moved ever so gently to stretch me open. Through my exhaustion, my body still knew to get even more worked up at the thought of what he planned to do next.

And that was the thought that sent me overboard. His fingers curled inside of me, fighting against the tension in my walls as another orgasm tore through every nerve in my body.

I must have said his name a thousand times, but I couldn’t stop myself. My thighs were wrapped around his ears just as he had said he wanted them to be. Even when my body fell limp, he held true to his word and continued to moan against my skin. The soft whimpers and quick jerks of my legs dangling over his shoulders, however, alerted him that any further delay might end our session prematurely. 

So he stopped. Taking his time standing from the chair, I felt his gaze burn into my body. There was no inch of exposed skin where I couldn’t feel him. The voice in my head was yelling at him to mark it so that I couldn’t forget him, but I knew it would be impossible regardless.

It was so difficult to speak, but I did manage to give one small plea with the little breath I still had. “Please, Chip,” I begged, “I want to make you feel good.”

“You already did.”

There was no doubt in my mind that he’d meant it. The look of satisfaction on his face was so apparent there were no arguments to be made. But at the same time, I heard the clinking of his metal belt and the rustling of his pants.

“I want you to fuck me,” I said anyway, letting my legs fall open to him again.

“Yeah. I know,” Chip replied with a bit of a chuckle. He raised one hand to softly stroke my thigh. I tried not to react too strongly, but it was too hard not to. My body followed his touch on instinct, leaning into his warmth and seeking any further touch he might offer.

“You’re not as much of a prude as your husband thought,” he murmured, almost like he was actually talking to himself. But then his eyes jumped up to mine, and with a harsher grip into my skin he smirked.

“I bet you would have begged me to fuck you back then if he hadn’t walked in,” His voice took on a darker tone, a hint of arrogance and something else twisting around each word. “I bet you thought about it even when he did.”

“Please, Chip,” I begged again, swallowing the lump of guilt and desire in my throat, “Please.”

Thankfully for my sanity, he didn’t make me wait much longer. There was only a brief moment of torture as he ran the head of his cock over my entrance, gathering the fruits of his labor before finally entering me with one swift motion.

“Fuck!” he groaned, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip while he tried to compose himself. His chest heaved with each breath, and through the anger I could see an enormous amount of restraint in his eyes.

“I want to kill your ex-husband,” Chip said through clenched teeth, his hands digging even further into my thighs. Raising my legs to rest my knees over his arms, he continued to thrust into me at a slow, albeit rough pace.

“Please do,” I laughed. “I should have let you fuck me months ago.”

He smiled, and I recognized it as the same one he had showed me before. The slightly possessive, slightly twisted, but mostly kind curve of his lips. “That’s alright,” he reassured, “we’ve got plenty of time to catch up.”

The implication hit me with such a force that I felt like I would collapse under the weight of it. I could see all the different ways this tryst could go. My mind flashed through imagined futures of the two of us tangled together in a mess of limbs and lust in every room of this house that was way too fucking big. The thought alone drove me wild. Paired with the increasing intensity of his thrusts, I was already on the edge again.

If there was any question as to what was on Chip’s mind, he cleared it up quickly. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, the force behind his words contrasting the softness in his tone. “You were made to be displayed like this. Just a perfect little housewife begging to be used.”

It was always strange to hear him speak so bluntly, but I wasn’t going to disagree with him. I’d honestly never felt as beautiful as I did in his arms, and I’d do whatever he wanted to keep it that way.

“Fuck me harder.” It was less a beg and more an order. He was happy to comply. “Use me, Chip, please,” I properly pleaded that time. And since my hands weren’t able to reach him, I let them roam my own body, instead. Judging by the way he forced my body closer to him in response, I think he appreciated the visual.

I wondered to myself what he might do if he had a hand free. Not even seconds after the thought came to me, Chip dropped one of my legs against the wood with no grace at all. The brief jolt of pain just made me cry out louder for him.

“Gladly,” he answered, leaning forward to slip his thumb into my mouth. For the brief period of time it was in my mouth, I tried to pay it a similar amount of attention as he had provided me earlier. But my attempts were cut off by a string of curses and a tug of his hand.

Apparently, Chip had other plans for his hand. Familiar, wonderful plans that proved to me that he really was the epitome of the perfect man. With a perfect pressure, he started to draw small circles just above where our bodies met.

“Are you ready, pretty girl?” he asked with a bright smile that I could see even as his mouth hung open.

“Yes!” I drawled through a moan, my eyes trying to stay open to watch him longer. He looked much the same, with half-lidded eyes and his head fallen forward. I could see the sweat on his brow and his pulse in his throat and I wondered what it would take to convince him to show me again, and again, and again.

That was the last thought I had before I lost myself for the third and final time. I honestly, probably looked possessed as my body shook beneath him. It certainly felt that way, but the look in his eyes told me that he had no complaints at all. I had no idea how he was managing to keep the same pace with his hand while his hips started to snap forward with an increasing force, but I was eternally grateful.

“Good girl,” he purred, continuing to fuck me through the heights of my orgasm. Even when I started to come down, it took me swatting half-heartedly at his hand for him to finally stop. That motion also served as his permission to finally let go himself, which he promptly did.

With both hands free then, he used them to pull me impossibly closer, bottoming out inside of me and holding me against him as he filled me. The sensation, although gentle and warm, stoked the desire that had started to fade, granting it just enough life for me to call out his name one last time.

And then it was over, but it was far from quiet. Although my heartbeat in my ears drowned out most of the idle noise in the house, I listened to his heavy breath as he hung above me.

I could only imagine how tired he must have been, considering he had done all the work. But after a surprisingly short amount of rest, he withdrew from me and pulled up his pants with no delay. I got the sneaking suspicion that he’d had to leave in a hurry before but chose not to think about all the lucky women who had been in this place in the past.

Before I could gather the strength (and courage) to talk, Chip was already running his hands up my legs again, inspecting the mess he’d made of me before he glanced over at the sink that had started this whole thing.

“Stay there,” he instructed vaguely.

Once I was abandoned at the table, however, I only kind of followed his orders. I slowly sat up and turned to watch him soak a paper towel and return to me with a small smirk at my immediate disobedience. He didn’t say anything though, and just spent his energy gingerly cleaning the mess from my legs.

If that wasn’t enough, he didn’t stop after he’d placed the napkins aside. Lowering himself back down, he pressed a rather involved kiss against my incredibly sensitive skin.

I whimpered at the sensation but did little else to stop him. He took it as a white flag and showed mercy in kissing my thighs instead. My hands were in his hair again, although there was no rough pulling anymore. I just let my hands flow through the short curly locks as I let out a dreamy sigh.

“You are insatiable, Chip Taylor.”

“And you are not,” he chuckled, returning to his normal height and wrapping his arms around me. I tried not to look too excited, but the truth was that I craved contact from him the second he’d left. He wasn’t done teasing me yet, though. With a clever grin, he continued, “I should call your ex-husband and tell him just how good he had it. A wife that can’t last longer than a few minutes when given even the smallest bit of attention.”

“Nothing about you is small, Chip,” I cheekily replied, letting my hands slip under his shirt and feel the way his muscles tensed under my touch. “You’re going to spoil me.”

“You deserve it.”

The words went straight to my heart, and I felt the butterflies continuing to swarm all through my body. It seemed so like Chip, to be capable of breaking my heart and mending it in just three words. And even though he thought I was the one with words, I was speechless in that moment.

Words weren’t necessary, l decided. All that I needed were his lips on mine and his arms around me. I tried to tell him as much in our kiss, and despite the way he deepened it within seconds, I think that was his way of saying the same thing.

He caught my bottom lip between his teeth as I pulled away, and the act was just silly enough to break the tension. Of course, he didn’t let that be the end of the dramatic shift in the mood. There was a brief glimmer in his eyes that told me his hesitation wasn’t because he didn’t want to be closer to me. He almost seemed a little worried, scared even, at the prospect of a kiss outside of sex.

Which is probably why he cleared his throat and said, “Do me a favor. Next time you want me to come fuck you, just say it. I don’t want to waste our time.”

It wasn’t enough to push away those pesky feelings in my heart, and I actually stuttered as I asked, “W-Will you come back, then?”

Chip paused. His mouth opened and closed a few times, ending with a happy, yet nervous sigh. I wished that I could hear the thoughts in his head. Even if they didn’t make sense to me, I just wished that I knew how to help him. But he seemed to figure it out himself eventually, and he ran his hand over my hair. As it came to rest against my cheek, he softly answered, “As long as you call me, I’ll come.”

“Then don’t leave yet,” I whispered, leaning into his hand before pressing a chaste kiss into the middle of his palm. “I want to show you how wrong my ex-husband was about my mouth.”

I hadn’t meant to prompt another kiss, but that was how Chip responded. In a fit of laughter and a mess of limbs, both of us ended up on the kitchen table like first loves that finally found time alone. And I was sure then, that of all the things I’d gotten in the divorce, the handyman was by far my favorite.


End file.
